Divided
by Madame Tortilla
Summary: **01/11/2013 STORY UNDER REVISION** Fiona Putnim is a young woman who just woke up in the world of Death Note. Now she has to deal with the world's greatest detective and Kira without making herself look too suspicious, while figuring how to hide the truth and return home safely. L/OC
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer: **_**All fictional entities featured from Death Note in this story belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I do not own them nor attempt to make any profit.**

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><p>Prologue<p>

This story starts in the hectic downtown of the overpopulated city of London. Its exact start and ending are somewhat more problematical, though the supposition of a rainy day during a cold morning is as good a guess as any.

However, in such a gigantic capital as London, the most colorful individuals are bound to be found, each and every one of them going through a different path in life. When observing the hurried man on the sidewalk, many are those who cannot help but to question themselves whether that man may hide something from the rest of the world or which destination deserves such persistency to be reached. The fact is that human beings are cursed with this not uncommon quirk named curiosity, even though some might refer to it as a bestial thing. Warnings on keeping a distance from other people's business have their genesis in a faraway history where pettiness started as just another word.

Because, in the end, a rainy day is but a fruitful occasion for the world to contemplate life in its fullest; on rainy days, cities come to life, people show their true colours when faced with unwanted scenarios. Stories start, no matter the course they may take.

This story in particular has already begun. Saying the weather had nothing to do with it would be a lie, strange and unthinkable things often happen in such times. However, of course, they have to be controlled. Otherwise they might turn into anything.

Things just happen, one after another. They don't care who knows but, unlike these things, History is a whole different matter. If not carefully observed it is not History: it is just things happening one after another.

Now, in the beginning, there was a young woman going through the pages of History, unnoticed like most of her counterparts, although still contributing for the future of the world. She would not stand out in a crowd simply for the fact that would not add anything to the story or her own happiness, and it is fairly hard to stand out to hasty strangers under umbrellas.

Had the sky not been pouring intensely, it is unlikely that the young woman would have missed her bus twice that day or slipped on a plastic bag in front of the ever vigilant guards of the Buckingham Palace, which would lead to a much shorter and completely different story. For the right things to happen they require History to provide a correct timing and maybe, just maybe, a little help from Fate.

While the protagonist of this story could have turned to be anyone in the world, the burden fell upon the shoulders of someone who just wanted to find a book to read. Nothing would come out of it in case things had not been meddled for the right ones to happen.

...somehow it just makes it all the more pitiful.


	2. One

**Chapter One**

"_In which strange things happen"_

The door to one of the most ancient bookstores in the city of London opened with a loud rasp, a small detail considering how old the wood which it had been built with was. Thus, it had been adorned with a bell above the door – an intelligent way to recognize a client's entrance, no less – after much thinking from the shop owner, a tall, lanky man who wore a pocket watch on a daily basis for the sake of preserving tradition.

As the bell rang, the bookstore clerk lifted a pair of beady eyes towards the door. He observed the newest client, a soaked figure wrapped in a rain coat which, in all honesty, had seen better days, and frowned deeply. A brief exchange of greetings was made. After a moment, the clerk tore his gaze from the soaked figure and resumed his previous task, muttering something about "_god forsaken hooligans_" to no one in particular.

Now, on the other side of the store, the soaked figure made no hesitation in going through any visible book titles which were of interest, although always specially careful not to spoil the pages.

The decision to take off the cap was probably made only to occur away from the clerk's sight, for as the figure's drenched hair was visible all of a sudden, so were the floorboards even heavier with new drops. The figure was now clearly female and she was glancing everywhere, obviously disturbed with the situation. It was not every day that her presence caused an inundation.

Her name was Fiona Putnim and she was in search of a book. Not just any book either, but one with enough substantial content to not be included in any sort of bathroom reading category. This was an arrangement easier said than done_,_ as the chances of success seemed thinner than ever. However, in spite of what could appear as a failed search, Fiona was quick to dismiss negative notions until opportunity slipped completely. Unfortunate as she was that day, this was proving to be an even harder task than anticipated.

There were books on about every subject in that bookstore: from _calculus_ to _cooking_ there was bound to be one able to catch her eye. Alas, the novel type was fairly bothersome, and though most things seemed to lack a particular appeal when she dwelled on them. Where was the insight, the creativity capable of such uniqueness that granted even uninterested people like her a common anchor to point out how _talented_ some were in comparison to others? As Fiona considered the towering shelves, she wondered how many pages she would be able to read without feeling the need to stop at every two minutes. Actual inventiveness was her craving; enough with the tedious writing over plaguing stores. There had to be something of interest out there, or else comic relief was the only option. Glancing around, Fiona noted that, in the corner, was even a manga section, but comics hardly counted as substantial literature as far as she was concerned. An expression of frustration fell upon her face; what Fiona wanted was a good book to ponder about after she arrived home from the university.

She sighed, annoyed. Fiona had a feeling that the walk home would be sorely empty handed…

That bookstore was leaving her a little indisposed, but it was probably due to the accumulation of dust in some of the old books. Either way, Fiona planned avoiding going back to the street until the weather showed some improvements. She did not want to catch a cold this close to Christmas.

All of a sudden, a book from the manga section captured her attention, thus distracting her from a thick volume of British short-stories. It was mostly because of the cover but that book seemed to emit an eerie glow from the shelf. The most curious thing, she thought, was the fact that she had already seen a dozen completely different copies –

Fiona frowned. She had reached a pale hand towards the book and, now, was holding a copy of the "_How to Read_" volume from the Death Note series. She wondered how in the world it could've ever appeared to almost sparkle in the dimly lit compartment, since it looked just like any of its brothers in edition at the moment.

Vaguely reflecting upon the possibility of having been given hallucinations from the moldy old dust circulating in the air, Fiona decided it was for the best if she went home. Raining or not, something did not feel quite right.

"How odd," she said, loud enough for only herself to hear. The sky was quickly turning into a soft blue, the clouds almost gone and no sign of rain. Perhaps the weather was going crazy, or maybe she was the one already loopy, but as Fiona placed the Death Note volume back in the shelf, her first reaction was to leave the bookstore as soon as possible.

Mumbling a stuttered "good day" to the store clerk, Fiona hurried her step on the way back home feeling awfully strange.

That night, when Fiona finished her last assignment, she went to bed early. The strangeness from the bookstore still plagued her to the point where closing her eyes seemed the best option. She was developing a rather nasty cold, for sure.

And so, Fiona Putnim allowed herself to drift into a sleepless slumber. She would ignore how her body was no longer home the moment she slipped into unconsciousness, but frankly, that was out of her control.

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><p>It was morning.<p>

Glorious, a bright new day waited for the world to start it routine of early stress and unwanted tasks.

All is well until the alarm clock decides it is time to wake up. At least, that is what Fiona always used to say whenever she stood in front of the mirror, cursing the first class starting before noon. She stretched, rubbing her eyes in an annoyed fashion as the insufferable alarm clock's ringing pounded hellishly in her ears–

It was then Fiona acknowledged a terrible thing which prevented her from opening her eyes. There was a clear lack of sensibility; taking something as small as this detail and to turn it into a calamity seemed over the edge, but Fiona felt that mayhem was bound to ensue.

There was no alarm clock in her room.

Finally, she dared to open her eyes: Fiona sat on a smaller sized bed than her own at home, dressed in the same pajamas she had been using the previous night and stared, dumbfounded, at what seemed to be a dormitory room, furnished and, obviously, not vacant. Luggage and items of clothing were scattered around the floor while a pile of documents rested on a desk in front of an open window. Had this situation not been ridiculous, Fiona would have recognized everything in the room as her own (except for the alarm clock, of course). However, there was something wrong with this whole situation and the best she could hope to do was to get in contact with the person in charge of this… institution.

Outside, the window showed a large, beautiful campus where possible students made their way to the main building or the entrance, far away, almost covered by the willow trees on each side of a pavement road. Adding to Fiona's feeling of dread was the fact everything had a certain oriental appearance.

The best logical explanation would be that Fiona was experiencing a disturbingly vivid dream. Yes, after the little success of pinching herself in order to wake up, maybe trying to decipher some details regarding the dream would be an intelligent thing to do. Before talking to someone and risking arrest, of course.

Leaving the bed with extra careful, Fiona searched the room for clues. Although there was nothing on the floor she could recognize as _important_, there was bound to be something she had not seen. Thus the next thing to check should be the desk where a pile of documents lay. Perhaps it contained an out of place instrument used for ludicrous dreams to end –

Fiona gasped in shock. On the desk, close to the pile of documents lay the "How to Read" volume of Death Note.


	3. Two

**Chapter Two**

"_In which reality turns out to be stranger than fiction."_

Fiona was flabbergasted. Clutching the edge of the desk and swearing under her breath, she continued to stare at the book. There was a moment of quiet contemplation: how odd that just the previous day she had held that same book and, now, after waking up somewhere unknown, it seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

"What the - ?"

She looked around; there was no one else in the room with her. The items and clothes scattered around the floor were obviously hers, - how they had appeared there alongside her was a mystery – Fiona would recognize her own mess anywhere. It was a matter of fact quirk of hers, in fact. Probably it was stupid, pointless, irritating beyond belief, that she still managed to refuse tidiness, but Fiona had to admit to herself that it was a good reminder, no matter what may have happened, that there was something familiar she could recognize.

After all, Fiona had elevated a simple mess to the form of an art.

Fiona examined the Death Note's book cover, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. It was like any other of its kind: the same font and the same drawings she was used to, the book did not appear in any way suspicious. Then, she placed it again on the desk, torn between giving in to curiosity and the feeling of dread rising every second. As it happens in many situations, curiosity won out.

She opened it.

Eyebrows shot up, jaw dropped and eyes wide; Fiona stared at the Death Note with unmistaken confusion. It was blank; not just the usual blank, but the sort that glows in all its virgin white blankness, contrasting heavily with the dark cover. While it should have something written on it, the words seemed to have disappeared into nothingness which was odd on its own accord. Published books were known for having some form of content inside.

It took a while before Fiona could tear her gaze apart from the book, terrified thoughts racing through her mind. She wasn't able to form a coherent, logical explanation; everything seemed so odd, so… _unbelievable _that she found herself fervently wishing it all to be a part of a dream. Fiona could deal with dreams; they all had to end, eventually.

There was still a sizable stack of documents sitting on the desk that she had not gone through. Perhaps it would give her a better insight on her situation? Fiona hazily considered this option, her thoughts not all gathered at the moment as she started to flick through the documents. One by one, they were seen to, trembling hands holding the edges, a solemn frown plastered upon Fiona's face.

As she neared the bottom, Fiona concluded most of them were written possibly in Chinese (she kept those to the side, not even bothering to attempt reading them), thus making it impossible to disclose important information. The few written in English contained her personal data. Had this been an official situation, she would have remarked at how outstandingly thorough her records were.

At last, Fiona found a document which was, lacking a better term, creepy. Her frown deepened even further as she read out loud the words _'transfer student'_ and _'To-Ho University, Japan' _in a hiss, not quite knowing how to react. It was absurd, she could never afford going abroad nor would she leave her home country for another of which she had almost no information about. This, of course, not to mention her lack of knowledge regarding the Japanese language.

How terribly appalling this dream of hers was turning, as she kept placing herself in such tricky situations. She had heard the human mind was indeed a complicated maze, but, as far as Fiona was concerned, this was ridiculous. She could only wonder how long it had taken her to concoct a dream of this caliber in order to be so vivid.

Virtually, she had no information about Japan except that its people seemed to have developed a liking towards eating raw fish. Why anyone would want to taste uncooked food was beyond her, but Fiona was not one to dwell on other people's eating habits especially if a different culture was involved. Between the whole samurai gibberish, the only good thing she could think about were Japanese cartoons, and even those had more cons than pros.

Again, Fiona looked down at the Death Note book as she considered pinching herself once more. The whole thing was just getting stranger by the minute and she felt awfully tense, startled by the uncanny turn of events.

Outside, the people crossed the white path towards the building she was currently trapped in. She wondered if the people beyond the window really were students or all part of a humorless _"Truman Show"_ where she had to figure everything out for herself. Although it seemed stupid, a part of Fiona couldn't help but to wish that was the case; at least then she could be sure of something.

All of a sudden, Fiona jumped: the sound of laughter just outside the door – _her_ door, for god's sake! – had startled her. It was a passing thought, but Fiona did not discard the idea of running out of the room, screaming, calling out for the police. The worst case scenario would be that she was sent to a mental institution, her parents notified and she would be returned to the United Kingdom as soon as possible. On a second thought, Fiona gave rejected it when she came to the conclusion that not only it would be brash as it would be stupid. She was in no condition to make mistakes; at least she could still have a clear head and see that. Dreams were dreams, no matter what was happening at the moment.

It had to be a dream, it was too stupid in order to be real, and therefore the possibility of her experiencing one of such vividness was quite high. If it were not for her rising dread and trembling limbs, Fiona would have thought about exploring further.

After several minutes of thought, Fiona folded the last document carefully and tucked it inside the Death Note. Then she threw the rest of the documents to the floor with a swing of her arm, a fit of rage she felt entitled to. The anger had been building up, rising with every ounce of fear that she had been fighting so hard to suppress.

She turned to face the room. In all its uncleanness, it would be the worst nightmare of someone suffering from an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. However, Fiona paid no attention to such details and moved across the room straight to bed and sat down, her head bowed. Although she felt a slight urge to cry, the reminder that everything was bound to be but a dream gave her enough hope to put aside the tears.

Doing her best to ignore the nauseating thought of succumbing to weakness, Fiona once again considered her options. As of that moment, the best thing she could do would be to discover the reason behind this situation. Ergo, her natural cowardice would have to be overcome, for the time being at least, and she would have to step outside.

Fiona began to stride blindly around the room, opening empty drawers and picking up items that seemed suitable for self defense. If she was going to venture alone, then surely she was not going unarmed. Eventually, she found a pair of scissors in a drawer and took them.

After getting dressed in regular street clothes, Fiona sat down hard on the bed. The Death Note still lay unmoving, on the desk. She wasn't expecting it to exactly fly around, but judging by the course this dream of hers was taking she figured anything could happen. A quick glance at the door made her realize that the moment of truth was closer than ever. Would she find strange creatures beyond the room? Such an idea made her shiver, but Fiona clutched the scissor harder in her grasp and started moving towards the door.

It was now or never.

Shifting uneasily, Fiona took a deep breath before raising one hand to the door knob, as the other still clutched the scissor inside her coat pocket. She opened it ever so slightly, peeking into a deserted hallway. The sound of footsteps was nearing, but Fiona did not dare to close the door, as she raised her left hand still grasping the scissor hard, the other on the knob –

A black haired boy strolled down the hallway, ignoring her completely and kept going towards some unknown place. His features were, without a doubt, Asian. Fiona did not require hearing him speak to know that she would not understand a word.

Utterly dazzled, Fiona swore under her breath, the concept of having a vivid dream slowly starting to fade. The situation was ridiculous, how in the world –

"Of course!" She gasped, closing the door shut. Fiona hurried to the desk, tripping on her clothes during the way. Then she opened the Death Note and stared at its blank pages, a look of dread upon her face.

Fiona did not know much about Death Note, apart from some major characters and crucial events. In fact, she had never read the whole thing; although Japanese manga certainly held an appeal, too much of it annoyed her. She just didn't have a stomach for exaggerated silliness.

Now, the Asian boy had reminded her that something was even more wrong with the name _'To-Ho' _than she thought. Previously, it had meant nothing more than a ludicrous attempt to sabotage her sanity but now she was placing the pieces together. If anything was certain, then she had the perfect explanation, one that was less bothering but, still, mildly eerie.

Perhaps she was dreaming of Death Note? Well, it could only mean that this was an even more stupid dream than she had imagined. On the other hand, it was a much better hypothesis; while a kidnapping seemed uncertain, a prank gone wrong was even more so.

Fiona was now filled with a new sense of hope, although she was still quite shaken with the whole thing. Somehow she had the feeling that dreams did not feel this real, but she quickly dismissed that thought. That was how vivid dreams were supposed to be like: stupid, pointless and very, _very_ real.

She wished this would be the last dream of the like. Fiona was getting peeved and she did not enjoy it one bit.

Sometime later, she strolled down the hallways without knowing where to head. Fiona might not have a destination, but she sure had a scissor. That students of Asian ethnicity seemed to have been giving her funny looks made her recoil a little, even if she kept reminding herself that she was only dreaming. All in all, Fiona had never considered herself capable of imagining such great environments: the inside of the University was much better than anyone could hope for and the students seemed fairly pleasant, apart from the looks she was receiving. Maybe it was due to her being Caucasian? Fiona did not possess any Asian trait.

As she reached for the front door, Fiona took in the beautiful view. Had she really been a student at To-Ho, she would have loved to wake up every morning to a white stone path surrounded by willow trees. Judging by the fields of freshly mown grass, it was Spring in the land of Imaginary Japan.

'_Nice_,' Fiona snorted, smirking all the way as she neared the front gates. No wonder she had felt under the weather the previous day, her brain had been concocting a highly detailed dream! Maybe this was how a hallucination felt, too vivid and, still, so unbelievable?

The students all blabbered in fast Japanese, so Fiona couldn't understand a word. Not that she was thinking about even trying, she had never been very good with languages. It had actually taken her twice as long than her peers to learn the basics of French in school. Fiona suspected this was one of those hereditary issues.

Suddenly, Fiona heard applause from the other side of the campus. She hurried towards the source, a crowd gathered around a great tennis court where two boys currently played. They were the center of attention, both fierce in their match. Even though Fiona did not enjoy sports, she had to admit their showdown was quite intense.

Also, it seemed vaguely familiar. Maybe it had something to do with the Death Note series? Well, Fiona decided she didn't want to think about it much, the dream would have to end soon. It was all a matter of patience.

Then, one of the players, a boy clad in a white sleeved shirt, dived for the tennis ball. His defense did not turn out as expected and, the second both hit the floor, a man sitting on a high chair bellowed over the crowd. He must have announced the end of the game because the crowd cheered enthusiastically and the two players moved towards the center of the court to shake hands. The winner was a handsome boy with a dazzling smile and seemed fairly athletic, while the other stood awkwardly hunched. Either he had a back problem or was downright miserable for having lost.

Fiona wouldn't blame him. If it were her in his place she would probably have died of embarrassment in the presence of such a crowd.

As she turned to leave, Fiona heard the voice of the man who had been keeping score of the match. Since his voice boomed over the rest of the crowd, it was not impossible for her to hear his unintelligible Japanese; though this time she certainly understood the name _'Yagami'_.

Now, that shouldn't have made her blood run cold, Fiona was already aware that there was something wrong and that it was, somehow, related with Death Note. Light Yagami was the protagonist and anti-hero while L was the antagonist, the detective on a mission to catch him. The thing was, that was all jolly good when it came to fiction. It had no impact whatsoever in her life. When she was dreaming it, on the other hand…

"_Oi!_" She bellowed, as some indistinct student practically pushed her to the ground. Fortunately, Fiona managed to get a hold on a tree nearby to catch herself from falling and scrapping her knees. No one turned to help, though. That was a usual occurrence when it came to a great number of people trying to exit through the same path.

Fiona grimaced. Her shoulder had endured a rather hard encounter with the tree log. It was likely that would leave a bruise, though it did not hurt nearly as much as the scratch she had on her hand. Making a mental note to avoid large crowds in the future, Fiona glanced at her hand: the scratch formed a small wound that was now bleeding. _Marvelous_.

Rolling her eyes, Fiona wiped the blood with a handkerchief she kept hidden at all times in her coat pocket. The scissor was still there, but it was not like she wanted to attract attention with it, even if this was all a dream. There some things she just refused to do and acting on pure lunacy was one of them.

As she pressed the handkerchief on the wound, Fiona thought about the boys in the match. Something just wasn't right; if that was Light Yagami then the other was L. She could see them from where she stood, leaving the tennis court together. If Fiona recalled correctly, then L already suspected Light? She could not be sure as her memory on the matter was rather foggy.

She grunted, looking up. How wonderful, a bright blue sky in a perfect Spring day and there she was, dreaming every single bit of that stupid thing, standing next to a willow tree with her hand bleeding. If Fiona did not know better, then she would have thought someone was laughing at her induced misery.

When she thought nothing could get even more ridiculous, Fiona felt her blood freeze for the hundredth time that day. She suddenly realized another wrong thing in a long list of extremely wrong and even _more_ wrong things. It wasn't as though she had seen it coming, but as Fiona wondered how on Earth anyone could feel pain in a simple dream – not that anything about that dream was _simple_ – her incontestable theory seemed frail all of a sudden.

Thus, for the second time that day, Fiona Putnim felt a pressing urge to cry. The wound on her hand had nothing to do with it, it was bearable pain as it was, but the more she tried to convince herself that everything would be alright the more those thoughts found a way of turning completely unfounded.

Closing her eyes, the only thing Fiona could think was that the whole situation was terribly unreasonable. She had done nothing wrong and therefore did not deserve it. It was unfair having to bear not knowing what was happening to her, how she had got to a place that did not exist and start _bleeding_ from her hand during a dream.

It had to be just a vivid dream. It _had_ to be, there was no other explanation and she just wished there was a possibility to wake up that instant.

Heading to the front gates were the two boys who she would have recognized as Light and L. How odd it was that characters from a fictional series suddenly seemed so real, it was almost impossible to describe her feeling towards the matter. In fact, had she been asked about it, Fiona would immediately reply that it was complete nonsense. Fictional characters were just that, anyone who argued they could actually exist was mental as far as she was concerned. There was no sense to it and Fiona refused to believe that possibility.

Everything had to be part of a dream. It just had to.

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><p><strong><span>AN:**** I just wanted to thank everyone for reviewing and favoring "Divided". If you have any questions feel free to ask, though I must say this will be the official length of the remaining chapters yet to come. Don't worry about short chapters anymore; they were short on purpose at the beginning. ****Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!**


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